


Now or Never

by Jeanie205



Category: The 100
Genre: Canon divergent after 408, F/M, Let's call it semi-smut, Otherwise known as pure wishful thinking., Slightly Smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 13:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeanie205/pseuds/Jeanie205
Summary: What if Bellamy and Clarke don't have to wait until they're both in Polis to reunite?  What if, instead, after Bellamy spends the night partying, Kane sends him to the island to fetch Clarke and the others?  And what if things get said that lead Bellamy and Clarke to a better understanding of exactly how much they mean to each other?





	Now or Never

Bellamy awakened gradually, his efforts to use deep even breaths to chase away the pounding inside his head meeting with only minimal success.

"What the hell?" he muttered, shifting on the bed and slowly opening his eyes.

His room, located on one of the Ark's maze of interior corridors, was still bathed in darkness, but Bellamy's internal clock told him that it was morning. As his brain resumed functioning, and the events of the preceding evening flooded his consciousness, he groaned heavily, very much afraid that it might be a morning he wasn't really prepared to face.

A sudden thought had him jerking around to peer down at the other side of his narrow bed. He regretted the movement immediately, as his head began to pound once more, but he couldn't help the feeling of profound relief that swept over him when he found himself alone with his misery. She was gone.

 _Bree_ , he chastised himself. He could at least remember her _name_ , goddammit. _Bree_ was gone.

Bellamy had been sure he'd left random hookups behind at the drop ship, but Jasper's taunts that he was wasting what might be the last few days of his life had apparently convinced him otherwise. That and the damn jobi nut tea. Still, if he was being honest with himself - and Bellamy had always been lousy at self-deceit - he knew very well that his encounter with Bree might have led to nothing more than a friendly drink if Niylah hadn't been manning the bar.

Not that he had anything against Niylah. On the contrary. She'd helped Arkadia out more times than he could count, and she'd been civil to him even after learning that he'd participated in the slaughter of the Trikru army in which her father had died.

But Bellamy also knew that Clarke had...something going...with Niylah. Something that had made his insides twist when he'd spotted the Trikru trader leaving Clarke's quarters early one morning. A reaction that he knew damn well he had no right to feel, because he and Clarke had _never_ been like _that_.

Not that he hadn't thought about it. Not that there hadn't been dozens of times when he'd wanted to take that step, cross that line. Like the time only days ago when he'd woken from a sorely-needed nap and found her writing his name on that fucking list. Yeah, he'd been sleep-addled and barely thinking straight, but when she'd rubbed her cheek across his arm, his whole body had stilled and he'd had to fairly run out of the room before he could do anything stupid.

Like pull her up off that chair, wrap her in his arms, and kiss her breathless.

Instead, he'd muttered something inane and just left her sitting there.

So if he'd backed away, like he always did, he could hardly be upset if she'd turned to someone else for comfort. But the fact was that, fair or not, he _had_ been upset, and he knew damn well that he'd used a willing and eager Bree in some convoluted attempt at evening the score.

Fuck, he really _was_ an asshole.

His bout of self-recrimination, an indulgence at which Bellamy excelled, was interrupted by the sudden return of the sledgehammer inside his head. He resumed the deep breathing, but when the pounding continued unabated, he eventually realized that the throbbing was being exacerbated by a sharp rapping on the door to his quarters.

"Bellamy? Are you in there?" Kane's voice was calm but insistent.

 _Shit!_ Bellamy didn't think he was up to dealing with a crisis right at the moment.

"Yeah, just a sec," he called, grabbing his pants from the floor and dragging them up his body. He'd pulled his uniform t-shirt over his head by the time he opened the door to the chancellor.

When Kane's eyes widened at the sight of him, Bellamy knew he must look as godawful as he felt.

"What's up?" he croaked.

"Grab your gear," Kane said quickly. "I need to tell you something and we can save time if I do it while you eat breakfast."

"What's happened?" he asked, his voice sharp this time, all his senses suddenly on high alert. He pulled on his boots and his jacket and hefted his pack.

Kane sighed as Bellamy shut the door and turned with him down the corridor.

"It's good news, Bellamy. Thelonious had an idea and...we found something. Something pretty incredible that might just save us all."

XXXXXXXXXX

When they entered the mess hall, Bellamy saw Bree sitting across the room with a group of last night's partiers, and he felt like an ass all over again. He hoped to god he wouldn't hurt her feelings, if he hadn't somehow done that already. But then she waved and smiled, and he saw that she was hanging onto the arm of some dude from Farm Station.

He nodded toward her, just a little ashamed of his profound relief that she'd apparently already moved on.

But Bellamy forgot all about his fling with Bree once he heard what Kane had to tell him. In fact, his head was spinning by the time he'd finished his makeshift breakfast.

He could hardly believe it. _The fucking Second Dawn had had a viable bunker after all._

"That coin you found was the key, Bellamy." Kane reminded him, but Bellamy just shrugged. It was the kind of stuff he'd always been interested in. Old coins, artifacts of any kind, really. All of which were rarer than rare on the Ark. So when he'd seen it there in the dirt it was just reflex to pick it up.

"So who knows about this and what happens now?"

Kane's smile was wry. "Trust you to get right to the heart of the matter. Indra knows. Her daughter Gaia helped us find the bunker. And she's not too happy about the prospect of sharing the space with Azgeda."

Bellamy sighed heavily, shaking his head. "How many days do we have left? Wouldn't this be a good time for them to stop worrying about that bullshit?"

"I agree. And Thelonious and I are working on a plan that we hope will save all the clans."

"Is there enough room for them all?"

Kane's sigh was gentle, but his tone was determined. "We'll find a way, Bellamy. But that's not what I need you to be worrying about right now."

Bellamy nodded. "Good. Because the first thing we need to do is get Clarke and the others back from that island."

Kane's smile was quiet. "Exactly. I want you to leave as soon as you can and take the truck. I'll let them know you're coming."

"The truck? Not the Rover?"

But Kane was already shaking his head. "There's already one Rover out there to bring back our people. But Raven and Abby both want to take some of the equipment. Medical, computers. Replacements for a lot of what was destroyed here by the fire."

"Will there be enough room in the bunker for all that stuff?" And besides, Bellamy couldn't imagine that after what had happened in the City of Light the grounders would happy about being around more tech.

Kane just shrugged. "Abby tells me that it's important and that's good enough for me."

"Right," Bellamy nodded. If there was one thing he understood, it was trusting in your partner's judgment. He stood abruptly. "I'm done. I can leave right now."

"Bellamy, wait." Kane waved him back into his seat. "Before you leave, there's... something else I should tell you."

The look on Kane's face told him it wasn't something he was going to want to hear.

XXXXXXXXXX

The drive from Arkadia to the coast was long and arduous but at least this time he didn't have to worry about transporting volatile explosives. Which meant he could drive at a more or less breakneck pace while he contemplated the fact that Clarke had turned herself into a science experiment.

Again.

Apparently, it wasn't enough that she'd risked her life over and over. Now she'd permanently changed the damned chemistry of her own blood.

Bellamy had been appalled when Kane told him, a familiar futility settling into his bones. After the intensity of the last eight months, he understood that Clarke Griffin would always put the needs of the group ahead of her own. He doubted he could have stopped her even if he'd been standing right next to her.

But he didn't have to like it. And he damn well didn't have to pretend he'd ever get used to it.

For the first few hours of the drive, his anger and distress about Clarke's actions continued to circle round and round in his tired brain. Even though he knew it was utterly pointless, since there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. With some difficulty, he eventually forced himself to clear his mind and just concentrate on driving the truck.

At least he was unlikely to meet any wandering Trikru this trip, he thought, trying to focus on something positive. With the apocalypse at their heels, it looked like all the clans had decamped for Polis, each of them still fighting for power, each still trying to attain preeminence.

Bellamy couldn't help wondering when the fuck the grounders would stop fighting each other. How did they not understand the utter futility of war in the face of _praimfaya_? Would they be trying to kill each other right up until they closed the door on the damn bunker?

He knew that both Indra and Roan were reasonable human beings, but he knew they could also both be irrationally tribal. Bellamy wondered which perspective would prevail as they faced possible extinction. Would they work together to ensure the survival of their culture? Or would their "blood must have blood" mindset finally win out and succeed in obliterating them all?

XXXXXXXXXX

Bellamy called Miller on his walkie as soon as he arrived at the coast, and Miller told him he'd send Murphy with the boat. But not before giving Bellamy a hard time.

"I heard you've been partying hard with those crazy-ass jobi nuts while we've been out here trying to save the world," Miller teased, and Bellamy could hear the amusement in his voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He tried to be dismissive, but he felt his face heat up and knew it was probably a good thing that he and Miller weren't having this conversation in person.

Miller's chuckle, as well as his gibe, came through the staticky walkie loud and clear.

"Yeah, I don't think so, Bellamy. Bryan told me he saw you wander off last night with a very attractive blonde. And that she was pretty much all over you."

 _Shit!_ Bellamy would have bet his life that with the way things were going lately no one would give a shit about gossip. Especially about him.

"So, how long will it take Murphy to get over here with that boat?" he bit out. "We're losing daylight while you're jabbering on about nothing."

Miller's laugh was full-bodied now. "Nothing. Right. Okay, changing the subject. Murphy's pretty fast with the boat so he should be there before long."

"Good," Bellamy said, nodding, even though Miller couldn't see him.

But then he had an uncomfortable thought, and spent a quick moment wondering exactly how to best phrase his question.

"Uh, Miller. That stupid gossip about...about me. You haven't, um, told anyone else that story, have you?"

This brought another chuckle from Miller. "No, man, you should know I wouldn't tell her about something like that."

Bellamy was sorely tempted to asked who "her" was. Just on principle. But he knew it would probably just amuse Miller more than ever.

"Uh, okay, good. See you soon." He clicked off the walkie before Miller could reply.

Murphy arrived in short order and Bellamy was surprised at how glad he was to see the kid. Until Murphy opened his mouth.

"So, Bellamy, I wondered how long it would be until you turned up," Murphy said drily as he maneuvered the boat around to head back toward the island.

"What the hell does that mean? Kane just sent me this morning to bring you guys back, along with some equipment. That's the reason I'm here."

"And no one else could do this job? It had to be you?" Murphy's eyes narrowed as they studied his face. "If you say so."

Bellamy shrugged. Truth be told, he would have insisted on coming himself even if Kane had tried to send someone else. But he didn't need to tell Murphy that.

"So how's, uh, Emori?"

Murphy nodded, handling the tiller with ease. "She's good. Now that Clarke isn't trying to kill her anymore."

_"What!"_

"Oh, yeah, she was going to use Emori for some experiment. Turn her into a nightblood first and then stick her in a radiation chamber to see if she'd still cook."

Bellamy felt his jaw drop.

"But then Clarke stuck the needle with the nightblood into herself. Said they'd experiment on her instead."

Bellamy felt the blood drain from his face and Murphy looked at him curiously.

"You didn't know about this?"

"Just about the nightblood. I didn't hear about any fucking radiation chamber. Goddammit!"

"Hey, dude, don't get your nuts in a twist. Abby smashed the damned thing. Said she had a vision or something. That Clarke would die."

Bellamy let go of the breath he'd been holding, but said nothing.

Murphy shrugged. "Now you know how I felt. I told her if Emori died, she'd die, too. And, yeah, I knew you'd have killed me then."

Bellamy figured he must look as bewildered as he felt. _What the fuck had been happening here?_

"I'm glad it never came to that, though." Murphy was so damned nonchalant. "For a while there, I thought that Clarke didn't care about anything or anyone but her own insane ideas. Glad to find I was wrong."

Bellamy just stared at him. "Are you fucking nuts? All she's done since we got here is risk her life over and over again to save all of us. And you think she doesn't care?"

He shook his head, disgusted, moving to the other end of the boat so he wouldn't have to continue this absurd conversation.

"Yeah, like I said," Murphy muttered towards his retreating back, "happy to be wrong."

 

XXXXXXXXXX

 

After all the talk about "the island," Bellamy wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. Two structures, mainly. The first, with a superstructure rising out of the ground like a warped trapezoid, was clearly mostly underground.

"The lab," Murphy said, cocking his head in that direction. "You can take a look at it later if you want, but you'd probably rather get something to eat right now, so we'll head to the house."

Bellamy nodded. A meal sounded fine to him, so they made their way along a grassy path in the deepening twilight. But the new structure that rose up ahead of them was no ugly concrete bunker but instead the picture-perfect home of a pre-apocalyptic Earth. Still standing. Seemingly untouched.

Murphy laughed when he saw the expression on Bellamy's face. "Yeah, that's pretty much how we all reacted to this place. Wait until you see the inside."

He followed Murphy through a set of sliding glass doors into a kitchen area that looked like something out of an old vid he might have watched on the Ark.

"Does all this stuff still work?" Bellamy asked, his head swiveling in amazement at the gleaming appliances still in use in the century-old house. It was a fucking miracle!

"Oh, yeah," Murphy nodded, opening the refrigerator to pull out food, which he dumped into a pot and set on the stove to heat.

Bellamy turned when he heard new footsteps, and even though Murphy was still talking, he was no longer listening.

Clarke was standing in the doorway that led from the kitchen into the rest of the house. All he could think about was how clean she looked, from her shiny golden curls to the boots on her feet. And how damn glad he was to see her.

Her face lit up when she saw him, but he thought her smile was tentative.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey, yourself."

The room was suddenly silent and then Murphy cleared his throat extravagantly. "So, hey, yeah, maybe I'll just let you two catch up, then."

He snapped his fingers to get Clarke's attention. "Clarke. Food. Stove," he said succinctly before sighing and heading toward the doorway. "Try not to burn the place down," Murphy called over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.

And then Bellamy was alone with her. She'd told him he'd see her again and here she was. He longed to reach out and touch her, even hug her. But somehow it felt like a hug would be wrong. Too much. Or maybe...not enough.

Clarke finally broke the silence.

"So...you must be hungry," she said, waving him to a seat at the kitchen table. She moved to the stove to check on the food that was simmering in the pot, then stopped to pull out a bowl and fetch a spoon.

"Clarke, what are you doing? You don't have to wait on me."

But she just shrugged. "I've been here a few days so I know how everything works."

By the time she'd put the food in front of him, and he'd begun to eat, the whole scene had taken on a surreal quality. Not only did the house seem like a set in some old vid, but it felt like he and Clarke were actors playing their parts. But Bellamy was hungry, and he figured he could sort it all out after he'd eaten.

"I keep wondering if this is how we would have lived if we'd been born a century earlier," Clarke said, taking a seat next to him as he ate. "But it seems like such a...a frivolous thing to care about, considering our...circumstances."

Bellamy nodded, finishing the last of his meal. "It's okay to be frivolous occasionally, Clarke," he said, picking up his bowl and rinsing it out at the sink. Afraid that if he didn't, she might try to do that for him, too.

When he turned back to her, she was just sitting there, staring at him. Something was up with Clarke, but he wasn't sure exactly what it was.

When she leaned her head on her right arm and gave an involuntary wince, Bellamy knew he probably should keep his mouth shut. But instead he reached over and grabbed the arm, pushing up her sleeve. He could still see the network of blackened veins that were visible around what he figured must have been the injection site.

He dropped her arm, shaking his head.

"Kane told me about the nightblood, but he didn't tell me about the radiation chamber. It was Murphy who let me in on that little wrinkle. What the hell were you thinking?"

He knew it was the wrong thing to say, knew that it would just make her bristle. But dammit, she'd scared the hell out of him yet again. So he couldn't seem to help either the words or the accusatory tone.

"You told me I couldn't... say goodbye. That I'd see you again. And then you go and pull a stunt like that!"

"It wasn't a stunt!" Clarke jumped to her feet, defensive, right on cue. "We were trying to find a way to use the nightblood to save everyone and it wasn't right that Emori should be the guinea pig. I just...I couldn't do that to her! Or to Murphy. So...it had to be me."

Certain of herself, as usual. But he wasn't having it.

"And if Abby hadn't smashed that chamber? Would you have allowed yourself to be irradiated to death?"

It felt like everything that Murphy had told him on the boat was just now hitting him. Planet Earth had turned out to be so damned dangerous, but they'd survived so much, and for her to put herself in jeopardy like that, so unnecessarily, just infuriated him.

"You're being ridiculous," she said, her mouth pulled into a firm line. "We didn't know about the bunker then. It looked like nightblood was the only solution. Wouldn't it have been better for me to die," she asked, glaring at him with her usual intensity, "if it had led to us finding a way for everyone else to live?"

"No!" he said immediately, grabbing onto her hands. "It wouldn't. Not to me. You said I'd see you again and you were about to break your promise!"

Maybe Clarke had heard the rubric somewhere that the best defense was a good offense. Or maybe she was just tired of defending herself. Because she dropped his hands and pushed up his sleeve so she could scrutinize the new, and still tender, burns on his arm. A reminder of his battle with the black rain.

And he found that suddenly he was the one on the hot seat.

"Maybe you should take your own advice," she said. "I hear things, too, you know. Was it really necessary for you go on a suicide mission? You're lucky these burns aren't more severe."

"It wasn't a suicide mission. I was trying to save two people, but...I couldn't." His eyes closed as he remembered again the frustration of that day, his feelings of helplessness.

"Bellamy," her voice was soft but earnest, and she grabbed both his hands. "It's no different for me. If something had happened to you in that black rain, if you...if you had died, I wouldn't have thought about how brave you were, or about how you sacrificed yourself trying to save people who couldn't be saved. I would have just been so damned angry that you'd died so pointlessly."

He opened his eyes, only to meet the intensity of her stare. Bellamy suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. If he didn't do something or say something quickly, he was afraid he might try to touch Clarke in a way that he was pretty sure she didn't want.

So he smiled cheekily and said the first thing that came into his head.

"Maybe Jasper has the right idea after all. Maybe we should both forget about saving anyone and just party 'til the end."

He'd meant it as a joke and he expected at least a small smile from Clarke. Despite his dark turn of late, Jasper's antics could still sometimes provide a laugh, even if his humor was lately more of the gallows variety.

But there was no answering smile. Instead, her face shuttered, her mouth thinned, and she dropped his hands.

"And is that what you intend to do then?" she asked, and there was a bite to her question. "Party hearty? Isn't that the old expression."

"Uh...if that's a serious question," he said, shrugging, his smile turning wry, "then I don't think I'm really the party hearty type."

Clarke's mouth seemed to firm even more, as though she was struggling not to say something.

Bellamy shook his head, bewildered. "What's up, Clarke?"

She huffed. "That's not what I heard."

"What you heard? What did you hear?"

Bellamy was even more confused when she suddenly flushed. "Maybe I should have said it wasn't what I _over_ heard. When Miller was talking to you on the walkie."

Bellamy gaped at her. _Damn Miller and his loud mouth._

"But never mind," she rushed on. "It's none of my business how you spend your off-duty time."

Her words were conciliatory, but there was something in her tone that was so condescending, so somehow _disapproving_ , that where earlier he might have been embarrassed to have her hear about his "party night," now he was just annoyed. And maybe even a little pissed off.

He shrugged. "Maybe I was just trying to have some fun. Let off a little steam. Bree is a nice enough girl," he added deliberately.

"Bree?" Clarke didn't look like she was too pleased to have a name to go with what had before been just a nameless, faceless stranger. "I think I remember Bree," she said, and her eyes had a sudden faraway look as though she were trying to place the other girl. "Long blonde hair, pretty."

As Clarke said the words, Bellamy realized for the first time that they could just as easily be used to describe Clarke herself. Except where Bree was slender and willowy, Clarke was curvy and....

 _Shit!_ Bellamy felt himself flush as he realized for the first time how much Bree's passing resemblance to Clarke might have influenced his decision to sleep with her. Still. Despite his embarrassment, he refused to be put on the defensive about something that was so absolutely none of Clarke's business. After all, he'd never said a single word about...

"It's not like she's my girlfriend or anything." He shrugged. "Maybe that would work better. What do you think? Should I look for a girlfriend even though we all might be dead in a week? Or maybe just a friend to fuck?"

It took only a moment for Bellamy to be appalled by the angry words that had just tumbled out of his mouth. He felt even worse when saw the hurt on Clarke's face.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Clarke." He reached out and grabbed her hand, wishing he could take back the biting words. "What you do...it's your own business. Got nothing to do with me."

"We all need comfort, Bellamy," she said tightly, gazing down at where he'd taken hold of her hand. "Niylah isn't my girlfriend. That's not how it is at all. We're just friends. Who sometimes fuck," she added candidly.

Clarke straightened her back then, and drew herself up. Looked him right in the eye.

"I didn't think it...bothered you."

Bellamy huffed a wry little laugh, shaking his head at her naïveté. "Come on, Clarke, how could you ever think it _wouldn't?_ " Equally candid.

He saw the shock on Clarke's face then, and something else, something he couldn't identify. A small smile appeared suddenly and she shook her head.

"I hate fighting with you more than anything in the world."

"Yeah, me, too," he said, tugging on her hand and pulling her in for a brief hug. The one he'd wanted to give her as soon as he'd arrived. "Let's not do it anymore," he added softly.

When Clarke looked up at him, her smile was bright.

"I think you should take a shower," she said suddenly, sniffing him with gusto. "I think you could use one and there's actually hot water here. And since this whole place will have disintegrated in a week, we might as well take advantage of it while we still can."

"A hot shower? Lead on," he said, smiling down at her. Happy that all seemed to be right with them again. Hoping that his sharp words and idiotic behavior had been forgiven.

While he was showering, she'd grabbed all his clothes, insisting when he objected that she was just going to throw them in the washer/dryer in an alcove off the hallway. And he marveled again at the amenities in this fantastic house. When he emerged from the shower, he found a clean pair of boxers on the bed, although he had no idea where Clarke had found them.

She'd turned back the bedcovers invitingly, and the flame from the fireplace tucked inside the wall gave the room a homey feel. Bellamy was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. He'd partied the night before, had scarcely any sleep, and then driven most of the day.

Not to mention his emotionally-draining conversation with Clarke.

He sat on the bed, marveling at the softness of the sheets. Suddenly, he yawned hugely. A nap, he thought, pulling his legs up and sliding between the sheets, would not be out of order.

He fell asleep pondering the look of surprise on Clarke's face when he told her he cared who she was intimate with. It was hard for him to believe she hadn't already known.

It felt like a dream when someone slipped into the room sometime later, turned out the lamp, and slid into the other side of the bed.

XXXXXXXXXX

Afterwards, he'd say that it was because he was sleep-addled, dazed, only half-conscious. But in the end, there really was no explanation more fitting than _heart's desire_.

He could hear her voice as he awakened slowly, struggling to make sense of his surroundings.

"Bellamy." Clarke spoke in a near-whisper.

She was perched on the edge of the bed, already dressed for the day, gently shaking his shoulder. Sitting so close, in fact, that he could breathe in her scent, the same flowery fragrance as the soap in the amazing bathroom. Still half-asleep, he cracked his eyes open and watched her hair fall around her face in a curtain of still-damp curls, glowing like a halo in the light from the odd fireplace.

"I'm sorry to have to wake you, but you slept all night, and we're going to be leaving pretty soon, so..."

Maybe she saw it in his face then, that thing he always tried to hide. Maybe his mask had slipped while he slept and wasn't quite back in place. Because her eyes widened and her voice suddenly trailed off.

As she'd bent to wake him, every one of his senses had been assaulted except his sense of taste, and it was an oversight his instincts demanded he correct. Before he could think about it - indeed with hardly any thought in his head at all other than _I want_ and _I need_ \- almost of its own volition, his hand reached up to cup the back of her head, burying itself in her curls.

When his hand shifted, his thumb moving to stroke across her lower lip, her eyes closed and her breath hitched, and he felt as much as heard her small gasp. It was all the invitation he needed. Bellamy pulled himself up from the waist and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss so soft he couldn't be sure he'd touched her at all.

But then he heard her soft moan, felt her hands reach up and wind themselves around his neck. Was it Clarke who deepened the kiss then, who pushed aside the bedcovers and crawled on top of him? Or had he pulled her down so that she was pressed against the length of his body?

He forced himself to emerge from his haze of desire just long enough to make sure this was what she really wanted. "Is this all right, Clarke?"

"God, yes, Bellamy," she said immediately, unequivocally, her lips only inches from his. "I've wanted to be like this with you for so long."

That admission of mutual desire was more potent than any aphrodisiac he could have imagined. Bellamy groaned, and his hands began to skim along her body, unsure where to touch first.

He rolled them over so that they lay on their sides, face to face, and reached up tentatively to gently stroke across the top of her breast. Clarke smiled softly, covering his hand with her own and pressing it tightly to her right breast.

"I love your hands," she said softly, her voice husky. "I've dreamed of you touching me."

With that, she shifted away slightly, just long enough to pull her shirt over her head and discard her bra. Then she grabbed his hand and pressed it once again over her now-naked breast.

Bellamy heard himself groan, felt himself harden painfully.

"Clarke," he whispered, sinking into the bright blue of her eyes. "You're so damn beautiful. I want to taste you."

She sighed and pushed her breasts together, as though in offering. Bellamy lowered his head to suck strongly on her nipples, shifting frantically from one breast to the other. He felt Clarke's hands ghosting across his chest and stomach, moving lower and lower until she finally grabbed hold of him through his boxers, kneading him gently.

As he lifted his head and began to kiss her deeply once more, Bellamy was awash in a kind of desire he'd never felt before. It was nothing at all like a hookup, or even, if he was being honest, like his pleasant interludes with Gina. Being with Clarke like this was like having his heart ripped open. He ached with it, and yet he wanted the feeling to last forever.

But Clarke had worked her hand inside his shorts by now, and was stroking his cock, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd last even a few more minutes, never mind forever. He grabbed her wrist, stilling her hand.

"I don't think I really have much control with you," he panted, with a rueful little smile. "I want this to last as long as possible, but when you touch me like that..."

Clarke sighed, twisting their hands so that she could force his fingers down inside the front of her pants.

"Can you feel how much I want you?" she whispered.

When he felt her slickness coat his fingers, Bellamy was done for. "I need to be inside you now," he said, his voice half-strangled with desire.

"Yes," she said, and he watched her swiftly pull her clothes off the lower half of her body. "You, too," she reminded him, tugging at his boxers.

Bellamy laughed self-deprecatingly. "You addle my brain," he said, pushing his underwear down his legs and kicking them off, before rolling on top of her.

Clarke moaned when she felt the hard length of him pressed against her just where she was wet and wanting.

"I can't wait," she said, grabbing his cock and rubbing it frantically against her swollen clit, opening her legs in a wide arc.

"No," he said, sliding himself into her, "I think we've waited long enough."

His lips were on hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth to meet her own, as she writhed against him with abandon. When he began to snap in and out of her, he knew that he wanted her far too much, and had waited for her far too long, to have any hope of making this moment last.

And then Clarke tore her lips from his, her breath coming in short little pants, and he felt her convulse beneath him. When she groaned loudly, the sound reverberated within him and his own movements became frantic. His strokes became spasms and when he came inside her, he nearly drowned in the pleasure of it.

Clarke held him tightly and he buried his face in her hair, his breath coming in short, uneven pants. After a few moments, Bellamy became conscious that the weight of him might be too heavy on her.

"Am I crushing you?" he asked, rolling away from her.

"No," she said, trying to pull him back a bit. "I love the feel of you on top of me."

"How about this instead?" He shifted onto his back and tucked her against his side.

"That works, too," she said, cuddling against him and laying her head across his broad shoulder.

They were quiet then, lost in their own thoughts, until Bellamy had a sudden terrifying concern. His chest tightened with apprehension.

"Clarke..." he began, shifting around to face her, trying to come up with the right words. He didn't want to sound like he was giving her an ultimatum. But then again, maybe he was.

He sighed finally, knowing there was no help for it.

"If we're going to...to be together...like this, I need it to be because we're really...together. I can't...this can't be casual for me. Not...not with you."

Clarke reached up to stroke his cheek, lifted her head to brush a soft kiss across his lips.

"Bellamy, there's no one else I want to be with. No one else I...care about the way I care about you. _Have_ cared about you for a long time now. Of course I want to be with you."

The tight feeling his chest began to unknot then and he felt like he could breathe again, but then he noticed that Clarke's eyes were suspiciously glassy. Just then a tear gathered on her lower lid and began to make its way across her cheek.

"So if this is what you want," he asked, puzzled, as he wiped away the tear with his thumb, "why in the hell are you crying?"

"Because I'm happy, you oaf," she laughed punching him lightly in the chest.

He grinned. "You're happy? Just when when the world is about to end? Again?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "Go figure."

He heard a door slam then and it sounded pretty close. Giving him a new concern.

"Uh, is there anyone else up here? I mean, do you think someone might have heard us, um, you know...earlier?"

Clarke laughed. "Since when are you so prudish?"

"It's not that..."

"I don't care, Bellamy," she said, interrupting him. "If they heard, think of all the conversations we can skip. I hope they _did_ hear."

Bellamy threw back his head and laughed. "Right. No awkward conversations. Works for me."

XXXXXXXXXX

Bellamy couldn't be sure whether any of the others had heard, or if they'd all just guessed by the stupid smiles on his and Clarke's faces. Or maybe it was the way their bodies seemed to unconsciously move towards one another. But to his relief, no comments were made or questions asked.

He finally got a look at the lab when they began moving some of the computer and medical equipment into the truck. It, too, had him swiveling his head in wonder at the things that had managed to remain untouched on this island for nearly a century.

Raven and Abby both looked exhausted, but relieved, perhaps, that maybe the salvation of mankind didn't rest on their shoulders after all. That the answer might turn out to be something as low-tech as a 100-year-old underground bunker. Raven nodded to him, and he noticed that she'd formed some kind of a bond with Luna. And that King Roan of Azgeda tried his damnedest to keep out of her way.

Bellamy chuckled to himself. Raven never stopped surprising him.

Abby looked worn and he hoped it was only from their weeks of futile experimentation. He wasn't at all surprised by her first question.

"How was Marcus when you left Arkadia, Bellamy?" she asked quietly.

"He was good," Bellamy nodded. "He and Jaha are trying to figure out how to make the best use of the bunker."

She nodded. "Good. I know they'll make the right decisions."

He wouldn't have said it to the Dr. Griffin he'd met once on the Ark, or to Chancellor Griffin of Arkadia. Or even, yesterday, to Abby. But today, the words felt right.

"He misses you," Bellamy said earnestly. "He doesn't say so, but I know it must be true."

Abby smiled, and her face lit up. "Do you now, Bellamy Blake? Know it must be true? Where did you gain all that insight about missing someone?"

Clarke picked that moment to appear, asking her mother about some of the medical equipment that needed to be moved. As she stood next to Bellamy her arm slipped around his waist and he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

"Aha!" Abby's eyes gleamed as she watched the two of them. "Never mind. I think I have my answer. Let me get you that list, Clarke," she added, moving up the stairs to her desk.

"See," Clarke said, smiling up at him. "Easy."

Cannibalizing the lab and the house of all useful items took a surprisingly short time, and they were soon packed up and ready to go. Kane had radioed and told them not to bother coming back to Arkadia, but to make directly for Polis.

No one could know what would happen, whether this new plan would work or would prove as useless as all the others. But Bellamy felt more hopeful than he had in a long, long time.

"You riding with me?" Bellamy tried to feign surprise when Clarke climbed into the truck's passenger seat, but she just shook her head.

"New rule," she said. "Where you go, I go."

"I like that rule." He smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I'm pretty sure it's one I'm never going to want to break."


End file.
